


perennial

by oryx



Category: Suikoden Tierkreis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the seasons change, so too does his understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	perennial

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kink Meme & (technically) 108 Days of Fanworks!

_sprout._

 

Snow is rare this far south, but this Sprout season has been abnormally, bone-chillingly cold. It drifts down gently from the slate-grey sky, speckling dead grass and skeletal trees with hints of pure white. Jale watches the scene through windowpanes spiderwebbed with frost, smiling absently. The cooler months have always been his favorite, ever since he was a child. His mother would come home for weeks at a time during the Sprout season, claiming that it was “too damn cold” to travel, and for a short time Jale could pretend that they were a normal family. Selen would curl up with him beneath the blankets and tell stories of her adventures, and Jale would think _maybe this time she’ll stay for good_.

 

(She never did, but he still holds the memories of those wintry days close to his heart.)

 

“What the heck, Jale? Aren’t ya freezing?”

 

Jale glances over his shoulder at Sieg and has to restrain his laughter. The other boy is bundled up in multiple sweaters and scarves, and there’s a fluffy fur cap pulled down over his ears. What little is visible of his face is bright red and utterly contemptuous.

 

“Nah,” Jale says with a shrug. “You know I like the cold, Sieg. I find it refreshing.”

 

“Yeah, well… There’s cold, and then there’s whatever this is,” Sieg grumbles. He wraps his arms around himself and shivers. “Completely ridiculous! Citro was never this bad.”

 

“This castle is drafty,” Jale remarks. “There’s no insulation. I highly doubt that it was meant for habitation during the cold season.”

 

“Maybe not, but here we are. Like a buncha fish stuck in the ice, waitin’ for it to melt.”

 

Jale smiles wryly. “An apt analogy,” he says.

 

They are silent for a moment, watching wordlessly as snow continues to fall outside the window. There’s a light dusting on the ground now – Jale would bet all the potch in the world that Castle Arcadia will be snowed in by tomorrow evening.

 

“Well,” Sieg says, “if we do end up gettin’ snowed in, it won’t be so bad. A lot worse people you could be stuck with, right?”

 

He grins then, that old, trademark smile that can brighten even the gloomiest of days. Jale takes a sharp breath. He can feel a strange warmth in his chest, a warmth that spreads all the way down to his fingertips and all the way up to his ears, pulsing through his veins like a languid summer. His throat goes dry and his mind goes blank and the words he was about to speak languish and die on his lips, lost for all eternity.

 

_Oh_ , Jale thinks. _So that’s how it is._

 

.

 

.

 

_bud._

 

It’s not like he hates Maybelle.

 

She’s a nice girl, honestly. She makes outrageously off-the-cuff comments and listens well to others’ problems and can prepare several delicious desserts on a moment’s notice. She’s quirky and curious and thoughtful, and Jale likes her. He really, truly likes her.

 

(Unfortunately, this is a fact that often slips his mind.)

 

They’ve just returned from Cynas. Flesaria Forest is little more than a muddy morass during the rains of the Bud season, and they’re all tired and soaking wet from the trek. Despite this, Maybelle has plastered herself all over Sieg, clinging to him at every opportunity, dogging his footsteps like a second shadow. She keeps rambling on about _true love_ and _soul mates_ and _I know I shouldn’t say destiny but that’s what it feels like, you know?_ and Jale can feel his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands.

 

“That’s enough,” he says, low and dangerous. He grabs Maybelle by the arm and pries her away from Sieg, who shoots him a grateful glance before hightailing it out of the room.

 

“You need to cut it out, Maybelle. Sieg is not some object that you are free to _grope_ whenever you please. People have boundaries. Personal space exists. You need to respect that.”

 

Maybelle looks crestfallen for a moment, but her genuinely apologetic expression quickly morphs into a pout.

 

“You’re just envious,” she exclaims. “Envious of the bond Sieg and I share! We have a beautiful, fated love and you’re just jealous!”

 

Jale stares at her for a moment. He frowns, and tilts his head to the side, and runs a hand through his hair. And then it hits him, forceful and abrupt, like a slap in the face.

 

“… You’re right,” he says. “I am jealous.”

 

Maybelle looks taken aback, like she didn’t expect him to agree with her. “Y-you are?”

 

“Yes. But… what do I do about it? I hate it when you touch him. I hate how he never tells you off himself. I hate how he seems just a little bit resigned to it, like it doesn’t mean anything to him. And it may not, but it means something to _me_. It means a good deal to me.”

 

“… Are you asking me for advice?” Maybelle shakes her head exasperatedly. “Jale, I’m your rival in love! You’re not supposed to ask me for advice!”

 

“Rival in love,” he echoes.

 

What an interesting concept.

 

.

 

.

 

_flower._

 

“I can’t believe this,” Liu groans, leaning on the handle of his shovel tiredly. “As soon as we get home they put us to work! What kind of treatment is this??”

 

“Quit your whining, will you?” Marica rolls her eyes. “You could use the exercise, Mister Elder Scribe. Looking a little soft around the edges as of late, I’d say.”

 

“Wh-what? Marica! When did you become so cruel!?”

 

“That _was_ pretty harsh,” Jale says, hardly even glancing up from his digging.

 

“Oh please.” Marica shakes her head, laughing. “We’re getting a portion of the crop to take back to the castle, so it’s not like we’re working for free.”

 

“But it’s so hot,” Liu mumbles. “I don’t know if I can take much more, to be honest… I might die of dehydration or heat exhaustio – OW!”

 

Liu is suddenly beamed in the head with an apple. They all look up to find Sieg grinning down at them from his perch in the nearest tree.

 

“You can eat that if you’re feelin’ faint,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you passin’ out, now would we? Might have to ask Zahra to make a house call…”

 

Liu glares at him, but promptly returns to his digging without another word of complaint.

 

The day passes by in a peaceful haze. Jale and Liu dig row upon row of irrigation trenches and Marica and Sieg gather bushel upon bushel of gleaming yellow apples until suddenly somehow it’s sunset, and Jale’s muscles ache in that pleasant, euphoric kind of way that means he’s done good work. The four of them stand by the fencepost where they used to hold “secret meetings” way back when, and they look out over the patchwork fields of Citro and reminisce about the not-so-distant past.

 

“Remember that time we tried to sneak into Old Man Hilley’s shed?” Sieg asks, and laughs quietly. “We thought he was some kinda demon who ate little kids, so we tried to climb through the shed window to see what was in there.”

 

“And I fell and broke my ankle,” Jale says, nodding. “I told you to run for it, to save yourself, but you tried to carry me on your back.”

 

“And then we both got caught, and we both got in trouble with your mom!”

 

“So basically… nothing’s changed?” Liu jokes, and they all exchange a smile.

 

Sieg is beautiful in the dying sunlight, Jale thinks. The soft shadows and the orangeish glow soften his features, and he seems almost indistinct, like an illusion (or maybe a dream). This moment is so perfect, Jale thinks. This moment is perfect and there will never be one just like it ever again. Before his mind can even fully register what is happening, he’s putting a hand on Sieg’s shoulder and leaning over and kissing him square on the mouth.

 

Marica promptly drops the bushel of apples she’s holding, but Jale pays no mind. Sieg tastes like sunlight and dust and nostalgia, and everything is so much more wonderful than he expected it to be. When he finally pulls back, they’re all staring at him, wide-eyed and shocked beyond belief.

 

“Oh,” Marica breathes. “So that’s how it is.”

 

.

 

.

 

_sprout._

 

Jale wraps his arms tighter around Sieg’s waist and prays for another snowstorm.


End file.
